


The Last Time They Met

by WauryD



Series: Shiftings [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Reincarnation, a visit at the museum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-02 23:52:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8688415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WauryD/pseuds/WauryD
Summary: An unappealing visit at the museum turns into an odd connection.





	1. The Parting

**Author's Note:**

> Moon_Shine was awesome enough to translate this work into Russian: https://ficbook.net/readfic/5045476
> 
> Sarabelia commented that my fic Before The Fall felt like a reincarnation story, even if it isn't, and it sounded like an interesting idea. Then I glimpsed the title of a novel called "The Last Time They Met" at a second-hand store and it just fell into place and this came out tonight.
> 
> Soooooo. Enjoy. :D
> 
> EDIT: And then she emotionally blackmailed me into adding more. :P

With a sigh, Jaime watched the golden hair of his girlfriend swish out of the exhibit as her heels clacked on the gleaming marble floor of the hallway. Fine. She could go get lost in that pyramid maze they’d reconstituted in the basement for all he cared. He didn’t even want to be here.

He had been forcefully pulled into a history museum on a rainy Sunday, when he could have been perfectly comfortable at home watching the football game he’d missed the night before, as he’d taken on an evening shift to help out a coworker. Cersei had been mad about that, too. But no, they had to go out and get wet, then bored,  _ then _ into a fight because he was bored.

And now she had abandoned him in the Antiquity exhibition, because he’d made fun of the statues’ small junk. For the fourteenth time. Maybe she would come to her senses and realize she just should have listened to his original refusal to go instead of trying to emotionally blackmail him into it. 

That was not likely.

Walking around some more was not all that appealing, not with the troves of children running around, probably equally as interested as he was. He dodged some for the third time - the same kids, too - as a particularly tall figure caught his eye. 

At first, it looked like another sculpture, albeit not on a pedestal and... well, clothed. The skin was paler than he’d ever seen on a person, but also covered with freckles - from head to toe, apparently, as a light blue sundress revealed from the calf.

The living statue appeared to be a woman, in her mid-twenties or thereabouts, though her bulk made it hard to tell. Fascinating. She was at least as tall as he was, probably as broad of shoulders. She moved with assurance, extending her limbs not gracefully, but in full knowledge of her body and how it fit in the surroundings. Her short, pale blond hair barely held in the elastic band she’d wrapped it in. It looked almost brittle.

A turn, and he glimpsed more of her. The telltale bump of a broken nose, coarse features that would not have made even a man handsome. Lips too full on a mouth too wide. The more he looked, the less she fit the bill for a typical work of art.

Still, even from across the room, her blue eyes were spectacular, as she smiled gently at fellow visitors surprised by her unexpected height.

They were also annoyed, Jaime realized with a start as they caught him staring. Clearly it wasn’t a first, as they rolled and left him too, the lady walking away towards the exit.

The trance broken, he blinked himself back to reality. She was gone. It had barely lasted half a minute, and yet. Was it odd that there was more of a sense of abandonment at losing sight of an unattractive but peculiar stranger, than there had been at watching his girlfriend walk away?

He strolled around the exhibit some more, observing artifacts through glass cases without seeing them, trying to distract himself from the nagging urge he felt to follow after her. Who would do that?

Besides, there were multiple other rooms, larger than this one, into which she could have disappeared. She might have left the building entirely, as far as he knew. Returned to her anonymous life outside. Perhaps his staring had put her off from wandering boring halls.

Then again, she had seemed to be on her own, he reflected, as he stared at marble genitalia absentmindedly. Maybe she was here of her own volition. For fun. How strange.

Eventually he noticed that he had moved from Antiquity to Renaissance, and almost managed to convince himself that he was (vaguely) looking for Cersei, or waiting for her to get over herself. Surely that could happen. Stranger things had. And yet, it was not long, golden hair and green eyes that he sought. Try as he may, there was no denying his conspicuous search for the tall, pale lady he’d lost.

Who was proving especially hard to find for someone so difficult to miss.

He was about to give up in the contemporary exhibit and ask someone if they’d seen her, when a flash of pale blue drew attention from the corner of his eye. He turned, but it had gone as fast as it had appeared. The Middle Ages section stood before him with the dangling hope of, perhaps, an Amazon.

As he entered the hall, a dark-haired toddler barrelled into him, barely apologizing before running off to his calling mother. He was sporting a sky-blue t-shirt of the latest superhero movie, and Jaime realized with a sigh that it must have been what he’d seen.

He was being ridiculous.

Then the heart-stopping realization that she was there, just a few meters away. Walking around at a leisurely pace, reading the descriptions on panels besides plates of armour that would have fit her. Bending and cocking her head to the side to better observe the edge of a longsword she could have yielded and swung. She seemed to belong in this room, and he unconsciously echoed her absent-minded smile.

This was so stupid. He was following a perfectly unknown woman around like a stalker while his controlling girlfriend probably roamed the halls, looking for him.

The lady-warrior finally settled down on a cushioned bench, in front of a large painting. He waited for nearly a minute, standing a few paces away, before he dared look at what it depicted, as if she was going to spring up and away the moment he took his eyes off her.

Two knights stood in the centre, brandishing large gleaming blades at an army of sinister foes, darkness surrounding them. One of the protagonists was clad in an armour of blue, the other in gold and crimson. They looked as if light was emanating from them, barely keeping the enemy at bay. 

Having never been interested in history, or the art it had produced, it was not likely that he had come across the painting previously. It felt familiar, however. If not the piece, then the scene it represented. Perhaps it had been reproduced in some way in one of the fantasy series Cersei was so intent on having them watch.

The mysterious lady seemed captivated by it, having not moved from her seat in several minutes. Jaime approached carefully, expecting to find her browsing social media on her cellphone. But no: she really was focused on the artwork before her.

He kept away for a moment before the proximity gauded him into speaking up. “Wishing for one of them to be your knight in shining armour?”

There was the faintest hint of a start in her shoulders, and she turned her sapphire eyes to him again, nearly knocking the breath out of him. Somehow, they seemed to soften her unsightly face. 

“Excuse me?” The sound of irritation was clear in her voice, and he realized far, far too late that he had gone about it completely wrong. And yet, true to the proud nature of manhood, he was going to be stupid and go along with it.

“I mean, they look so  _ chivalresque _ .” That was a word, right? “Any woman would swoon over men like that, no?”

She didn’t seem impressed, despite his use of such a researched word, shaking her head slightly before turning away from him. For half a second, he thought he had lost her. “Condescending  _ and _ sexist.” Ouch. “ _ And _ , wrong.”

Please entertain me me with how wrong I am, he thought, walking to stand by the bench.

“The knight in blue is actually a woman.”

Jaime squinted at the painting. “How can you tell?” Nothing showed any indication of the figure being female, and both wore full helms that obscured their face completely.

“The title is ‘The Maid of Tarth And The Lion Of Lannister’. It’s one of the centerpieces of the exhibition? It’s written right there?” She pointed to the panel by the frame, where the history of the piece was detailed, and titled in large enough characters, even from their position.

Her outstretched finger, strong and rough, kept his attention for a fraction of a second too long, and she noticed. Her exasperation was reflected in all of her body language for just a moment: she took a deep breath, closing her eyes, and looked completely calm when she opened them again.

It felt somewhat contagious. “Sorry. It’s just, you look... peculiar.”

“Mmmmm. Do I? Never noticed before.” She sounded almost amused in her sarcasm, rather than vexed.

A beat passed before Jaime dared speak again. He was desperate not to be shut out, if he could help it. “Do you think they won?” They seemed in a dire position.

The look she gave him indicated that she had indeed been about to tune out his presence. He felt the need to cling to it.

“Unless it’s all written there and I’m an idiot for wondering,” he offered.

She had an encouraging half-smile, turning her gaze back to the artwork. “She did. He died in battle, trying to save her.”

_ As he should have _ , was the first thing that came to his mind, but he didn’t say it. Stepping forward, he started to observe more of the details. There was a lion engraved on the golden knight’s breastplate, and he noted that the pommel of the blue one’s sword presented the same emblem. 

Had he given it to her? Were they defending the same house? Perhaps he was her liege lord - but she was depicted standing higher than her companion, and usually it meant something in art. He knew that much. If they were siblings, or relatives, they would normally have worn the same colours, he recalled from high school history lessons. 

Jaime felt oddly drawn to that story, more than he could recall ever being to any other. It had the hallmarks of a regular medieval tragedy, but...

“Who were they to each other?”

It took several seconds of silence for him to tear himself from the painting, fearing she had gone. But no: she was looking at him with curiosity and lighthearted mockery, still seated. It was not unpleasant. “Why don’t you read the description?”

It told him little. She was highborn, the last of her house, and had given the rest of her life in service of the queen who had been crowned at the issue of the war represented. Daenerys, the Dragon Queen. His honour had been questionable, history had retained, but still she had trusted him by her side in battle.

And as Jaime’s fellow visitor had explained, the golden knight had fallen to the enemy in the attempt to shield his companion.

The story felt... incomplete. Not inaccurate, or inauthentic, but definitely lacking a deeper truth. He stepped back, finding himself sitting by the tall woman’s side on the bench as he took in the whole piece.

They both kept to silent contemplation for several minutes. He felt oddly aware of her by his side, and caught her glancing at him at one point, at the edge of his vision.

“I think they loved one another.” It took a second for Jaime to realize he wasn’t the one who’d spoken, as the more he looked, the more it felt like the right conclusion. Nothing told of any romantic involvement, yet...

“They did.” He’d spoken with assurance, as though he’d been privy to the whole tragic affair. “I mean,” he began, but no. It was truth. “...yeah.” It was plain to see, and he couldn’t understand how the panel didn’t mention it.

Visitors stopped to observe and read the story, spending less than a minute in all before them, and neither of them shifted from their captivation.

“She believed in him more than he did himself,” he stated, and he turned to meet her gaze. He had to wonder if the barely contained wave of emotions was his or hers. “It saved him.”

“He died,” she argued with a sad frown. “She did not manage to save him.”

“No, she did,” Jaime protested. The conviction he spoke had no clear source, but he knew he was right. “He would have died long before, and in shame.” He looked at the crimson knight. “He lived to redeem himself because of her.”

She watched him with intrigue, and he wondered if she felt the same understanding and kinship that he did.

“Jaime!”

His heart seized in a hateful way, as if he had just been caught in an intimate moment with the stranger by his side. Cersei rounded the bench to face him, her long blond hair swaying around her, hands on her hips. “I’ve been looking for you for an hour!”

_ I’m not sure I have moved from this spot in the past hour _ , he thought to himself. The tall lady was stubbornly staring at the painting, clearly intent on staying out of it.

“You’re the one who walked away,” he told his girlfriend, looking up at her. She was gorgeous, even in the sort of cold fury that his comment was arousing. They looked somewhat alike, beautiful, golden hair and green eyes, and for so long he had felt they were one. He’d been questioning it for some time. That moment, having uncovered an understanding that defied explanation - of who or what, for starters - confirmed it.

She coldly told him that they were leaving, and Jaime knew better than to contradict her further in public. He rose to follow after her as she ignored his companion. He met blue eyes, filled with empathy, and he had a sorry smile.

He looked back as he was about to exit the room, seeing her turn away in a swish of pale blue fabric, pretending she hadn’t watched him leave.

“What’s your name?” He’d tracked back to the bench, knowing Cersei would be all the more furious. The lady was standing, and she was indeed as tall as he was, he noted with an odd sense of comfort.

“Brienne - “

“ _ JAIME! _ ”

He knew what awaited him, but he smiled anyway. “I’ll find you again,” he promised. Brienne seemed surprised, but she gave a small nod in acknowledgement, returning his smile hesitantly and with amusement.

Walking away, he wondered how he would keep his word. Perhaps he would spend Sunday afternoons in front of that painting for the rest of his life if he had to.


	2. Once More With Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime deals with the aftermath of realizing he's not with the right person, and trying to keep his word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wasn't supposed to write more, but I blame Sarabelia for forcing me to :P

The following week was spent moving personal stuff from the apartment Jaime had shared with Cersei, to a storage unit and to his friend Addam's, who had graciously offered his couch until things could be sorted out. The lease he'd signed with her was almost up, thankfully, and he could afford to pay a month or two while renting another flat. 

It was disorienting, to be without her after so long. He had almost reconsidered, when she had turned pleading and desperate, but had hesitated just long enough for her to revert to threats and attempts at emotionally blackmailing him into staying, which reminded him exactly of why he was leaving. 

He had the presence of mind to notify the landlord that he was moving out, in case she trashed the place in a fit of rage, or attempted to change the locks while some of his possessions remained in the flat.

The rest of his time was shared between work, and looking for Brienne online. 

Jaime had been dejected to find that it was not as unique a name as he had thought. Also, what had happened to actually using photographs of people’s own faces as profile pictures?

(He looked at his own, cringing, as it displayed the logo of his favourite football team.)

A few accounts seemed to potentially belong to her, but most were locked to outsiders, reserved for their private social circles. One of them seemed more likely - okay, yes, because the picture of the white Great Dane had predominantly vibrant, blue tones - but Jaime found that he lacked the courage to find out. 

What if she had simply agreed - nodded! - to get rid of him? He might make a fool of himself. What if she didn’t reply?

Their short conversation turned around in his head over and over again, for days. Had he imagined the connection he had felt they had? What  _ was _ the nature of that connection, exactly? He’d been drawn to her, but... 

He and Cersei had more or less been together since the beginning of their teenage years. She had decided on it, and it had seemed so natural to follow. That was the extent of his romantic experience. It had gone relatively well for years, though she was possessive and had regularly told off other girls she found too pretty to be in his vicinity. 

That was part of the reason Jaime’s social media profiles displayed very few pictures of him alone. He’d gotten unexpected messages and contact requests from women he didn’t know, attracted by his good looks, and his now ex-girlfriend had given him the cold shoulder for a week when she’d found out, despite him having done nothing wrong. 

While the notion that he might have thrown away their relationship on a whim because of Brienne seemed ridiculous, he still had to consider it. But no, it had been broken before, in the jealousy and the lies and the manipulation. She had wanted him to be much more than he was, to match what she thought she deserved, and when he had clearly showed little intent in reaching those standards, she had started to lose interest.

And the tall, odd blonde... Well, he knew nothing of her, except perhaps that she had a dog, and a liking for history and museums. He was interested to find out more, but was it even in the hope of something more? It would probably stupid to jump into something like that, if there was even interest from the other party, so soon after ending a long-term relationship. Still... he wondered.

Saturday was spent visiting apartments, hoping that the few items he had left with Cersei would not be shredded and burnt when he got them back. He hadn’t needed the spacious flat she’d chosen when they had moved together at the end of high school. The contenders, this time around, were smaller, cozier, and a great deal less expensive.

When Sunday morning came around, Jaime found himself at the entrance of the history museum. The day was cool but sunny, and he stiffled the urge to take it as a good omen. He was not a superstitious person, and he tried not to get his hopes up. It was quite early, and there were few visitors in the halls. If she turned up at all, it would probably be later in the day.

He walked around, reading any text his eyes spotted to stave off boredom. He learned about ancient pyramids and how no, they had not been built by slaves or thanks to alien technology. He stuck out his tongue at the sculptures inside the antiquity exhibit without entering the room, earning him an odd look from a kid.

Sitting in front of the Maid and the Lion’s painting made him restless, as if he didn’t belong there without Brienne. It seemed to be basically snooping to observe it any further without her company. He spent about fifteen minutes there before touring another exhibit, then returning for another quarter of an hour. He didn’t want to miss her.

Lunchtime went by without a sign of her. Jaime hadn’t eaten much in the morning, distracted as he had been, and he cursed himself for not quickly going to get a meal at noon. She would have been less likely to show up then, and he might not have starved in fear of missing her.

He was standing near the entrance of the medieval section, watching their painting from afar - it seemed like a distance respectful of her absence - when he felt a presence by his side, just out of sight. He was loathe to take his eyes off the bench, but a light cough was produced, and he turned to the person invading his personal space.

A short security officer stood nearby with severe grey eyes. “Sir, you’ve been loitering around this room for nearly four hours. Is there something you need?”

No. He couldn’t get kicked out yet. It was not even close to the time he’d met Brienne a week ago! He opened his mouth to reply.

“Thank you, Arya. I’ll take care of it.” A young man, with full cheeks and dark hair, grabbed his arm gently but firmly, leading him towards the exit of the museum before Jaime could say anything. It took him a second to remember to protest.

“No, wait - I’m waiting for someone. She’ll probably here any minute - “

“I know what you’re doing, but Ms Targaryen is not interested.”

Stunned for a second, Jaime had to laugh. “What? No, I’m not waiting for a Tar -” 

The young man pulled him aside as they reached the entrance. “Were you not waiting for Ms Brienne Targaryen? Extremely tall lady, blonde?”

He felt his head swim, as his lungs forcibly emptied themselves, as though he’d just been punched in the gut. That made no sense. Well it did, but he was talking about one of the most important families on the continent. A dynasty spanning centuries. How could he have not known? Or even heard of her? 

That’s why she’d seemed amused when he asked her name. 

“I - I didn’t know she was - “

“No, of course not, Ms Targaryen has worked very hard to operate in the shadow of her house, to ensure that its history is preserved as accurately as possible, which is why she is a frequent patron of this institution. A large portion of the medieval exhibit has reached us thanks to her, and her efforts to collect artefacts. She does like to discuss with visitors, but I think you can appreciate that a lady of her stature would not like to be bothered incessantly otherwise.”

Jaime’s mind was still reeling from the shock. Forget her rejecting him: she was a frigging Targaryen, basically royalty. He never had a chance to begin with.

The young man seemed satisfied with his explanation, bidding him good day and leaving him there. 

It was still somewhat hard to breathe, as if he’d just run twice around the block, and he stumbled to the nearest bench. Breaking up with his girlfriend of nearly twenty years had not been nearly as suffocating as this was, knowing that Brienne was completely out of reach. It had only been a week. A miserable week of dealing with Cersei’s anger, blackmail and insults, holding onto his own promise of finding a stranger who had humoured him in a weird conversation, deluding himself in thinking that it would be crucial for him to keep his word. It had seemed so important.

He’d been an idiot.

Making his way out, his chest felt hollow. He supposed that it should have been expected: happy endings didn’t happen for the likes of him. Not with a Targaryen heiress anyway. Or, so far, not with anyone.

Jaime was about to cross the street, lost in thoughts, when the collar of his shirt was jerked back, pulling him along violently. Shaking himself free, he turned to give a piece of his mind to whoever thought it had been a clever way to get his attention.

Brienne had a concerned look in her eyes. “Please don’t walk into traffic.”

Huh. Maybe she had just saved his life.

_ Maybe _ he was bitter that she had pretended to share his interest when she did not, just for him to end up being told off by some footman. He readjusted himself. Yeah, he  _ was _ bitter. “Should I curtsy, or...?”

She rolled her eyes with a sigh as though this was a habitual nuisance. “Podrick?”

For a second, he thought she’d forgotten his name - that he hadn’t told her directly, actually, but Cersei had shouted it loud and clear - but he realized she must mean the man who’d given him a speech but not his name. He shrugged.

Hooking an arm under his, Brienne led him back towards the museum. "He's a bit... overprotective. Not sure why. I have all the possible means to defend myself already.”

They entered the museum again, and there was little else for Jaime to do but let her guide them. She looked around until she spotted the lad, who had a worried and apologetic smile when they approached him.

"Pod." She sounded like a mother about to chide her son.

"Miss, I'm so sorry. I tried to tell - "   


"Pod." She cut him off firmly. "I appreciate that you are trying to preserve me from the gods only know what, but please do not intimidate visitors on my behalf unless I specifically ask you to."   


Jaime marvelled at how "please" in her mouth sounded like an order you'd  _ really _ want to follow. He could not imagine any situation in which she might have needed anyone to intimidate someone in her stead, either. Podrick cowered as if he'd just been chewed out. She shook her head. 

"I'm not angry at you, but don't do it again, alright?" He nodded, and Brienne turned away, satisfied, marching her new protégé towards the museum's café. "Ugh, I'm starving."   


While he hadn't expected her to be meek or shy, seeing her make such efficient use of her influence and physical stature was a surprise. A very good one, his whole body confirmed, as she manhandled him to order them both food, then to sit in one of the booths. Despite the fearsome reputation of her family name and the fact that she was physically intimidating, everyone she interacted with generally seemed at ease around her, and happy to help. They obtained metal utensils and Corel plates instead of the usual disposable wares, and the portions seemed unusually generous for a restaurant probably operating at a loss.   


He hadn't said much since she'd grabbed him outside, confirming here and there the order she placed for him, but otherwise still a bit too stunned to speak. He wouldn't have known what to say anyway. The reality of her social status was slightly overwhelming.   


Brienne started eating after a summary invitation for him to do the same, but Jaime’s stomach was still in knots. He took the opportunity to observe her from up close.   


Her short hair was not tied today, but kept easily enough to the back of her ears. It looked thin and soft, and he wondered how he had not associated its unusual paleness to that of the staple Targaryen trait. Then again, how could he have imagined it? Both her eyebrows and eyelashes looked almost invisible even against her milky skin, the obscuring of freckles being the only way to tell of their presence. His mind wandered. She wore no makeup or jewelry, apart from a completely normal-looking wristwatch.

The bridge of her nose seemed to barely tell of an ancient fracture. Her teeth had the type of uncommon perfection of orthodontic treatment, behind full and wide lips, and Jaime found himself hypnotized by the movement of her tongue licking them as she ate ravenously. He swallowed.

The day was cooler than it had been the previous week, and her choice of clothing reflected that. The light blue sundress had given way to thin beige slacks and a tight, black, long-sleeved shirt that outlined her shoulders almost obscenely. It also highlighted the flatness of her chest, barely hinting at breasts, but also celebrating her musculature.

“What, have you never seen an ugly woman before?”

He was pulled out of his thoughts by her amused voice, having just been caught staring again. He felt heat rising to his cheeks, meeting her blue eyes. “I... don’t think that’s the point.”

“You don’t think?” Brienne asked with a laugh. “You mean you don’t know?”

Jaime poked at his food, attempting to collect his thoughts. Passion with Cersei had be visceral, nearly violent at times. Looking back, she had used sex like she had used him, and he had been happy to oblige. In the last few years, however, he’d have been content to settle into something slower, paced, but she had had plans. She had always had plans, bigger than he had ever wanted, and he’d disappointed her in that.

But this, right now, felt different, both completely new and a memory of something long lost. She was not  _ beautiful _ , but then she  _ was _ , and it felt completely logical despite his utter inability to explain it. He pushed back the insisting illusion that they were close, that he _ knew _ her, which could only lead to missteps around her. Like he just had done, staring at her unreservedly.

“I just don’t know what I... what I’m feeling around you,” he finally replied. He looked at her, and he thought he saw understanding in her expression. He wanted to expand on that, to explain the intricate, deeply rooted emotions he was just discovering around her, but he didn’t have the words. He could only hope that she somehow felt the same.

Brienne set down her fork, abandoning her pasta salad, bites before it disappeared. She seemed to reflect for a moment, meeting his eyes again. “I don’t remember meeting you before,” she started. He knew he hadn’t. She was hard to forget. “And yet, I...  _ know _ you.”

Relief flooded Jaime’s whole body, as if the tension had suddenly been driven away by her words. She did feel the same! She did understand!

She paused for a moment. “Your work includes manual labour, dexterity. You... could be ambitious, but you're not, aside from the talent you know you have, and people tend to try and make more plans for you than you wish for. You dislike conflict - much like everyone else if they’re honest - but you’d rather go at it head on than play games. You probably broke up with that girlfriend of yours the moment you got home last week.”

A brief pause, as she observed his reaction. He felt white as a sheet, and he wondered how little air he could stay conscious on before passing out. She continued.

“You are loyal, sometimes to a fault, and not always to what and who people expect you to be. You don’t shy away from consequences and responsibilities, and you’re ready to lead when needed, but never seeking to take it forcibly. You don't share much of what goes on in that pretty head of yours, mostly because you feel people are already judging you anyway.”

His eyes welled up, startling him, and he turned to blink away the tears. He had to take a moment to try and separate what she’d said from who he actually was, but he couldn’t find a single fault in it. She had put it into better words than he probably ever could have.

Looking back to her, Jaime felt he should give some sort of assent. “I’m a welder,” he finally managed to get out. “My parents... would have liked me to be a lawyer. Cersei would have liked me to be a lawyer,” he reflected bitterly. “Or a businessman. Or just not a welder.”

Her blue eyes were full of empathy, and he had to look away, to contain emotions he didn’t recognize that threatened to overflow. How could she lay him bare so easily?

“I know what it’s like not to meet expectations,” Brienne said softly.

“Do you even care?” It almost sounded like a petulant accusation, but that’s not how he meant it. She seemed so confident, so inherently strong, and she must have been used to not being up to people’s standards, whenever they failed to understand her.

“Of course I do. It’s human nature. I don’t base my life on it, but I would be lying if I said it doesn’t touch me.” She had a sad smile.

They stayed silent for a moment. “I did break up with Cersei. I guess if we weren’t married by now, it wasn’t meant to be.” While he didn’t miss the outbursts and the manipulation, it was still a blow to an otherwise functioning routine. He  _ had _ loved her, and he probably still did. Some part of her, anyway. You don’t stay with someone for nearly twenty years without some deep form of emotional attachment. “I guess we were both waiting for the other to be the person we needed.”

She nodded, poking at the remains of her pasta. Had she lived through something similar? Did someone break her heart?

“What about you?” The tension has noticeably fallen in Jaime’s stomach, and hunger was making itself known again. 

Brienne looked up. “Me?”

“I mean,” he developed, studying his food. “I can’t do the... psychic thing,” he said with a smile, waving his utensils for emphasis.

She chuckled. “It’s not a psychic thing. I had you followed.” She said it with such serious that he paused, his fork with a first bite of his meal stuck in mid-air. She let a beat pass before grinning happily. “I’m better at pretending than I thought I was! Or, you’re more gullible than you look. That’s good to know.” He’s stuck his tongue out at her.

“It’s not a psychic thing,” she repeated, more serious, resting her chin on her hand, elbow propped on the table. “At least I don’t think it is. I never had that kind of... experience before. It feels like things I always knew. Like being confronted with a subject you never studied, but knowing that it works the same as other things you have encountered before.” The idea of being  _ studied _ gave him a warm feeling. “I don’t go around telling people about their innermost motivations. They would think I really can read their minds, and that would scare them further.” She had an apologetic smile.

“I think it’s more like respect,” Jaime argued.

She laughed. “No, it’s definitely fear, at least in part. You don’t get to be a Targaryen and not have people you meet worry about their safety, physical, financial or otherwise.”

“There are probably a lot of people who would still be intimidated without the name.” She had made light of her appearance earlier, was it too bold to do the same now?

“Fewer than you’d think, actually. Because I’m a  _ woman _ ,” Brienne explained. “A lot underestimate me, and some have reaped the consequences, too,” she added with a victorious smile.

“Podrick doesn’t,” he offered. Her expression softened.

“Indeed not. He was forthcoming and helpful and a little bit terrified long before he knew my name.” There was fondness in her voice, but more akin to the way one speaks of a sibling. Jaime wondered if Pod ever had romantic feelings for her.

“Is that how your nose got broken? Someone underestimated you?”

She gave an appreciative nod. “Well spotted. Pretty much. I never was on the front, public rows of my family, so my parents decided to preserve my identity in school by registering me as Hightower, an old name that has been connected to our house a couple of centuries back. I was shier back then, and some large idiot mistook that for weakness. He might have tried it even if he’d known who my family was, though, he was about that stupid. He made me trip and I hit the lockers head-on. He lost two teeth that day. The only reason he didn’t get expelled is that I begged my parents. I wanted him to spend the next years skirting the walls when he saw me in the hall.”

It sounded like a happy memory. Jaime tried to imagine a smaller Brienne, with a black eye and a lightly crooked nose, glaring a bigger kid into submission. It made for an entertaining picture. He wondered if she had childhood photographs.

“Hightower? So that social media profile with the white Great Dane, that’s yours?” Tall, pale, and commanding respect: that sounded both like the beast and the lady.

She raised an eyebrow, amused. “You’ve been snooping,” she accused.

“I said I’d find you again,” he reminded her.

She studied him for a moment, then smiled. “You did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confident!Brienne are my favourite versions of her :) 
> 
> Since the original characters were mentioned in the first chapter, and that I made the Lion of Lannister historically die, I decided that their reincarnations shouldn't be named the same. The Maid of Tarth is never given a first name, nor is the Lion, and Brienne is not of Tarth, and Jaime not a Lannister :3


	3. Legacies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of angst. Liiittle bit.

“A one-piece bathing suit? Really? How conventional of you.”

Jaime liked to needle Brienne whenever she did normal things. He’d told her within their first few meetings that he expected her to always do extraordinary things, to match everything about her, and she had tried to dismiss him. She had started throwing things at him whenever he commented on it now, though never with the intent to maim him. He was grateful.

While tall and well-built himself, when they had met she was in much better shape than he was. She did have the time to train, something that his full-time job and full-time then-girlfriend, together, had never allowed much time for. Now he took advantage of the gym in her apartment complex, at her invitation, at least three times a week. In her company whenever she was available. He had to try not to stare then. Her workout clothes did nothing to help. She pretended not to notice.

They had quickly settled into a remarkably easy friendship. She helped him move when he finally chose a flat he liked, complimenting him on it despite the fact that it was about the size of her bedroom. They met for meals regularly, at his place or hers, or at tiny restaurants with dark corners. She mocked him when strangers flirted with him, as he politely declined and turned back to his freakish-looking companion, confusing them.

Her dog, Oath, an unusually large female, had needed some more time to accept him. While not aggressive, the dog had been keeping a close eye on him, unapologetically coming to sit between them on the sofa when they watched a movie, trailing behind him suspiciously in Brienne’s apartment. They took her for walks during which he was not allowed to hold the leash, or she’d sit down and not move until it was handed back to her rightful master.

The hound finally changed her mind the day they met Cersei in the park. She was as beautiful as she had been, strolling smugly at the arm of a dark-haired, rotund man with expensive-looking clothes. Contacts with her had been difficult, as for months she had seemed to have held onto the hope that he would. He had lost many of their mutual friends, who seemed to think that there had been infidelity involved on his part. He had had no desire to try and join her games.

They had made tense small talk, and Jaime had introduced his companion as Brienne Hightower, who was having none of it.

“Oh, come on Jaime, you don’t need to hide me,” she had said, hooking her arm to his with a girly shrug and a giggle. She’d offered her hand to Cersei with a wide smile. “Brienne Targaryen. So nice to finally meet you! He’s told me so much about you.”

The couple had paled visibly, although she had tried to hide it. They’d departed shortly after, and Jaime had needed a moment to compose himself from trying not to laugh. He had realized that, from Cersei’s perspective, he was now moving up in the world right after ditching her. He wasn’t really: neither he nor Brienne had any interest in social recognition, and they were not a couple anyway. But it had been an amusing, bittersweet thought.

When they had been ready to go on, Oath had been sitting by him, leaning on his leg, and had since allowed him practically all the same privileges her owner had.

Winter had come, and they’d taken to enjoy the indoor pool that was annexed to the gym of her building. The first time, he had indeed mocked her choice of bathing suit, to at least try to disguise the fact that he was once again staring. Her whole body exuded strength. He needed distraction from her thighs.

“Do you really think that a bikini would be comfortable on me? It’s not like there is much to hide up top - oh, shut up,” she added when he cocked his head to the side, looking at her with a suggestive smile, “and that is, much to hold the bikini in place either. Besides, finding one that would fit the width of my torso  _ and _ the inexistence of my breasts would be a nightmare.”

“You could get one made,” he had argued.

“I might have,  _ if it was even comfortable _ .”

Jaime had found out quickly enough that comfort was paramount in her personal life, widely beating practically anything else. She needed to be comfortable in clothes, in space, with people, else it was a deal breaker. “I already make those sacrifices in my work. I’m not doing them in private,” she’d explained. He was fine with that. It made things so much simpler, and their relationship became an oasis devoid of expectations for them both.

They grew physically closer, eventually, the kind of connection that came with total trust. There was constant mock-flirting, even if they both agreed that they were just friends if anyone asked. It was never discussed, and their private understanding that there was much more to it was never vocalized. 

Once, Brienne changed shirts in front of him, knowingly, and he noticed she didn’t wear a bra. It was not all that he noticed, but he tried to focus on that. She’d found his reaction - actually blushing and turning away - quite amusing. “Does that make you uncomfortable? There’s nothing to see!"

He started waking up confused that she wasn’t by his side for him to kiss her good morning. In turn, that provoked innocuous, light touches whenever they were together, that she soon began returning. There was no more space for Oath to sit in between them on the sofa.

A patient type of waiting had settled between them, they each discovered. Comfortable, not for one another, but for the right moment. Everything Jaime wanted to do with her seemed to be nicely shelved at the back of his mind, until the right opportunity would present itself. He didn’t know when that would be, but it would make itself known clearly.

In the meantime, they both enjoyed each other’s companionship and affection freely.

Brienne still travelled all over the world to meet with historians and collectors, trying to piece together her family history. A large portion of it had been detailed in numerous books, having fascinated scholars for the entire length of its existence, but she aspired to find the finer, more human aspects of it. 

“The Tarth line was extinguished with the Maid,” she had explained, a day they sat at the museum on their usual bench. “But she had Targaryen blood, so we’re distantly related.” The painting, and those it represented, still held much fascination for both of them. “They called her The Beauty, so yeah,  _ distantly _ related,” she'd added with sarcasm.

“Aren't there any other paintings of her? With a face, perhaps, so we can judge whether history was recorded accurately?”

She'd shaken her head. “None that were done during her life, so it’s all interpretation. Apparently she wasn't fond of sitting still for very long. There aren't any of him either,” she’d continued. “His reputation had suffered a lot before his final battle, and not many trusted the Maid when she told them otherwise. They burned all of his paintings, and he was subsequently described as looking as foul as his soul.”

He had cringed. “Wow. That's harsh.”

“That's what history does. Beauty is used on women to soften their exploits and personality, and ugliness on men to reflect the negative perceptions the public held onto. We might never know what they truly looked like.”

“Huh.” He’d stepped closer to the painting, noticing a detail. “He was left-handed?”

“Didn’t have a choice at that point.” He’d looked at her quizzically. “His right hand was cut off.” Turning back, he had noted that it was indeed golden, like the rest of his armour. He had flexed his right wrist absent-mindedly, reflecting that he couldn’t imagine how it must have felt. “You’re  not so bad with your left hand yourself,” she’d argued. He had once broken his right arm as a teenager, falling off a bicycle. He’d had to learn.

Oath would usually be sent to a high-end dog daycare when Brienne left the country, but Jaime’s arrival in their life simplified things once the dog embraced his proximity. While his flat was much smaller, the hound didn’t seem to mind, cozying up against him on the sofa, overflowing on his knees on the bed.

They’d go and greet her owner together at the airport upon her return, usually just a few days later. The dog would show freely what excitement they all felt of meeting again, that the other two safely contained within a hug.

Spring was underway when she announced that she might have found a priceless item, and would need to spend nearly three weeks away. For the first time, he would have considered going with her, if he could have afforded it. Eighteen days was a long time, especially since she refused to divulge the nature of the artefact she sought. “I don’t want to jinx it,” she argued.

“You are the least superstitious person I’ve ever met,” he protested, feeling anger rise from something else underneath. “You don’t need to hide things from me.”

Brienne looked at him as if he was insane. “Jaime, this has nothing to do with you. This is almost the culmination of the work I’ve been doing for nearly ten years. I might not be able to achieve it, and I don’t want to talk about it because I get excited and optimistic, and it’s just going to be a worse disappointment if it doesn’t work out.”

He relented and apologized, but that did not make three weeks any shorter. She chided him for his gloomy mood on the day of her departure, and he knew he was being childish. It was the first time they were going to be separated for an extended period of time, and probably not the last, but it felt like  _ something _ was happening all over again. And it terrified him.

They communicated regularly, though she kept refusing to disclose her objective. He grew restless, and so did his mind, presenting him scenarios that were rationally unbelievable, but that his fears refused to let go of. Halfway through, he started thinking aloud about buying a plane ticket to Asshai on credit to join her. She refused.

“What about Oath?”

“The daycare is operational.”

“I won’t have time for you here. I’ve been meeting with people around the clock since the day I stepped off the plane.”

“It’s fine, I can just... look around while you work.”

“Jaime, I don’t want you to come.”

That had hurt more than he wanted to admit, blinding enough for him to reconsider what he’d considered to be mutual understanding, on which the most part of their friendship was based. Cuddling with Oath, miserable, he reminded himself that Brienne was doing something for herself that just didn’t include him this time. He was demanding selfish things from her, and that if anything was threatening their friendship, it wasn’t her spending time away from him.

Her work and their relationship had never been in conflict before, and he was the one pettily pitting them against the other. However much he missed her, he would have to be patient, even if that meant lying on his bed for hours in the evenings, waiting for her to call, Oath’s snout resting on his stomach.

Fifteen days after her departure, Jaime came home from work to find his door unlocked, and Brienne on his couch, smiling brightly at him, Oath at her feet. For the first time, he seriously considered going over to her and kissing her senseless. He let her come and hug him instead, returning the embrace and savouring it as much as he could without being weird.

She had wanted to surprise him, and had succeeded. Making him sit down with her and presenting him excitedly with photographs of a gorgeous blade, she let him work out its meaning by himself. The first thing he noticed was the pommel, sculpted into a lion’s head, and orned with rubies.

“That’s her sword,” he breathed. She nodded, trying to contain her joy, and failing utterly. Laughing, she launched into the convoluted explanation of how she had managed to track it down, and the complex negotiations that had taken place with its now former owner. Pride was shining off of her, and he had to smile. Her happiness was contagious.

When she calmed down again, she took out a bound document from her bag, filled with photocopied research through ancient letters and records. “The Lannister line was disgraced because of the Lion’s sister, and his reputation, and their father’s machinations,” she explained. “It was thought to have died out after the war, out of shame, but the remaining members changed their surnames. One of them...” She pointed at a name at the end of the document. “...was Swyft.”

Jaime stared at it, then at her. His own was Swift.

Brienne smiled. “I couldn’t find definitive proof, because they worked very hard to erase trace of the change, and they weren’t exactly good at keeping records outside of the noble houses, but from what the researchers told me, it would make sense, time-wise and geographically, for you to be related to him.”

Unbelievable. She’d gone to the other side of the world, without him, to find something that connected them across centuries and surprise him with it. He had childishly complained about her being away, probably whining to her around the most crucial moment of her work, and she had returned bearing gifts anyway. He’d been an ass.

He apologized. She feigned not understanding what he was talking about. She detailed more of the research while he struggled to piece everything together.

“You don’t seem all that enthusiastic,” she worried. Jaime hated seeing the excitement leave her, and he promptly tried to reassure her.

“No, I am. I really am. It’s fantastic work, Brienne.” He had a genuine laugh. “I’m just shocked. I mean, what were the chances...?”

They’d met at the museum, although he had never wanted to go. They’d connected over a medieval painting, while he had had no interest neither in history nor in art. She was an heiress to a centuries-old dynasty, and he was a welder. And there she was, on his sofa, talking about an engagement sword she’d gotten from the end of the world, and tales of a love never consumed between two people they were distantly related to.

Brienne smiled, and he realized with a shiver that the wait was over. Embracing him, she nuzzled his neck as he tried to steady himself with deep breaths. “I missed you,” she admitted in whisper, and suddenly it hit him that she hadn’t enjoyed their separation either, despite being proud of her trip’s results.

That night, as they took Oath out for a last stroll, Jaime insisted that it was too late to go home. She was exhausted from the return trip and from the excitement of her findings, and frankly he didn’t want her to go. She protested weakly, and when he tried to prepare the couch for him to spend the night on, she pulled him along back to the bedroom.

The last odd thought that went through his mind, as he drifted off into sleep with Brienne curled up against his side, lips bruised, was that they had finally found each other again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END
> 
> Well, kind of. Read Brienne's POV of that story [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10445886/chapters/23059953).
> 
> (I really, REALLY like the image of Brienne with a white Great Dane. Like, so much. And with this characterization too. Ugh.)
> 
> (EDIT: aaaand I just realized that Great Dane. NCW is Danish. That is all. )


End file.
